Want
by RiskPig
Summary: Durza has given himself a project.
1. Chapter 1

_The Spine: unforgiving territory loused with sharp rocks, poisonous flora, and beasts that would tear you to shreds the moment they caught your scent. Hardly a place for a lady._

_The Urgals dropped her at his feet, a blade at her throat. By the Gods, she was beautiful, and not just in her face; she carried a confidence on her shoulders without the impertinence of elves. He had decided to let her off with a warning._

_She had been put out of his mind, but at night, she haunted his dreams…_

* * *

Durza, an all-powerful Shade, took pleasure in torture. He considered it his most skilled hobby; choosing a victim, and finding the most perfect way to break them, be it through pain or in the mind. The anticipation in planting the first seed of fear, cultivate it, and watch it grow into full despair. Witness suffering bloom, red and beautiful, almost on fire. He was a god, tossing everyone and everything between the light and the dark.

He could have never known it to feel so delicious when he experienced it himself.

Once he started dreaming about that village girl, he punished himself. A man like him had no energy to waste lusting after something so insignificant. He forced himself to try and forget her, pushing himself deeper into his work, satisfying his other urges with blood and screams.

But it did not matter, those eyes of hers danced across his mind every night, a torment that he still anticipated.

What made it a torment, was that he could not remember the color of her eyes, or how curly her hair, which made his silly infatuation all the more pointless.

* * *

Durza found Carvahall long overdue from one of his visits. The simple folk never knew that they were being watched by their dark superior, that he walked amongst them as one of their own, selecting his next victim amongst the filth and the mundane.

But he did not come this day for pleasure; it was strictly business. He needed to find that girl. His magic was not precise enough to give him an exact location, leaving him stuck with only a vague assumption on where to find her. He had made the right choice in coming to Carvahall; within minutes, she appeared, like a beacon, walking through town, also noticed by every warm-blooded male, judging by the amount of head turns.

She carried a basket of flowers, the image so poignant and sweet, inspiring a warm glow in his chest. Blue. Her eyes were a most beautiful blue, cool and clear, pure and alluring.

His instincts told him to magic her away to his castle, and ravage her within an inch of her life. But that would have been too easy. A fantasy of her magnitude was worth more than a quick fix. He needed to plan this out, take his time. Plant her like one of his demented creations.

Make her want him. And then destroy her.


	2. Chapter 2

The village Carvahall roused to find a newcomer settling in his home: a humble spinner, trying to repair the roof of his dilapidated shack. Passers-by and resident busybodies observed him while he stumbled over the shingles. As he climbed down, the town scattered, avoiding eye contact, lest they found themselves volunteered to assist the cripple in his pointless project.

Save for the flower girl, of no surprise to anyone. Belle never minded the normal stance on strangers; dwelling alongside the Spine bred distrust and general mischief, leaving every new face to be greeted by scowls and shifty looks. She, on the other hand, believed this attitude to be nonsense, holding her paranoid neighbors with a small amount of disdain. All her life, everyone told her her carefree spirit would get her in trouble, the disregard for decorum and safety bringing her certain death.

Belle had almost proven them right, not too long ago. She had been caught exploring in the forbidden forest, Urgals holding her down for an execution. Lord Durza must have been in a good mood that day, for he spared her life, but did not release her without frightening her back in line.

"I would not tread in these woods, my treasure," he had said. "There are a many number of beasts that long to sample such sweet flesh."

She had nightmares about the gleam in his eye, heated and unwanted. Not unused to men staring at her, Durza's gaze still managed to unsettle her. Wary of ever crossing his path again, Belle stayed away from danger, keeping to her flower stall.

But she found nothing dangerous about greeting a stranger.

"Good morning," she called to the spinner, waiting patiently as he hobbled over to her, one hand tightly gripping a staff.

"Good morning, miss," he spoke to the ground, "how can I help you?"

"I just, um…" Belle lost her words, joining his conversation with the dirt. Her cheeks grew warm, and it took a great deal of courage to just drop her gift and run back to her stall. Holding out her basket of baked goods, she steeled her nerves, hoping that he did not notice her hands shaking. He was so handsome. A little disheveled and dirty, but no one could deny the kindness in his eyes, a twinkle of warmth. "I wanted to welcome you to Carvahall, Mr…?"

"Please, good lady, call me Hobblefoot."

As he watch her walk away, nearly sprinting, Durza realized his glamour worked a little too well. He included a magnetism to the spell, so he could be noticed, but the added attractiveness frightened his treasure away. If she fell for him too quickly, Durza feared he would grow bored, marking this enterprise a waste of time.

The point of this game was the chase; the thrill in drawing her in, taking his time enjoying her once he won. And then discarding her as soon as he had his fill. If he did this right, he could drag this out for months.


	3. Chapter 3

_The simplest urchin would know that to win a girl's heart, one must gift her with flowers. A ploy that proved tricky, considering the girl in question sold them. Most would tell Durza (if they had the courage or gall for such liberties, which none did), that jewels and clothing were also staples of courtship. And those people never see their loved ones again, for stupidity. Hobblefoot, his alter-ego, could never afford precious gifts, so he needed to be creative. _

* * *

Over the last few days, he marked her routine - which homes she made her deliveries, the times she set up her booth, and when she made time for herself with a book and some bread.

* * *

_Seeking inspiration, Durza indulged in one of his passions: fucking. As his cock drilled a poor, starving village girl, he mentally checked a list of possible approaches. Courtship's aim was to achieve romantic interest, "interest" being the key word. So, in order to move forward with his project, he needed to know what Belle found… interesting._

_The brief lack of genius had him pounding the girl harder. She moaned, against instruction, and he pulled her hair in punishment. The girl's voice came out too raspy, seductive; not at all like Belle's. His treasure would mewl like a kitten, sated, and full of cream. _

* * *

Timed just right, he waited outside, weeping softly. Hands clutched tightly to a sheet of parchment, his shoulders trembled pondering on how far he could take the charade before she arrived. Like clockwork, there she stood, in his periphery, wringing her hands and undoubtedly pitying the pathetic spinner.

A gentle hand at his shoulder, and Durza sniffed, savoring the contact before brushing it off. Her touched burned, and if it had been allowed to continue, his treasure would have found herself properly ravished right there for all to see.

* * *

_He was coming, that familiar pinch spurring him to thrust faster, and harder. The girl tried to moan again, but he placed a finger in her mouth, commanding her to bite. She broke the skin, blood filling her mouth as he filled her pussy with everything he had. Once spent, he tore away from her, fully dressed in an instant. The poisoned blood worked instantly, turning the corpse in his bed gaunt and grey. _

_What did Belle like? What set her apart from the dregs, something that he could exploit. _

* * *

"Leave me alone!"

She recoiled, taking back her hand, muttering apologies before turning to walk away. Cursing himself for his enthusiasm, he called out to her, pleading.

"I'm sorry, Miss Belle. It's just that I… This is a message from the front lines, but I-I can't… I can't read."

Ending with a whisper, he stamped down a smirk as he watched her perch on a stump, minding her basket. Those beautiful eyes regarded him with feeling, offering so much light and hope; more than he could stomach.

* * *

_"My lord, I'm afraid I don't understand." _

_"You don't have to. Just do as I say."_

_"But, the girl is dead."_

_The Urgal tried his patience. "And her father, the king, will declare war as soon as you drop her off." He levitated the corpse with a crook of his finger, placing her in his man's arms. "I want your men to stay out of this for now. I'll be summoning peasants to fight in your stead."_

* * *

"May I?" She reached for the letter. He handed it over without a fight, allowing her to read. "You're being summoned to spin an army's worth of wool."

Shoulders slumped, he took back the letter, forcing a facade of fear and despair. "Thank you, Miss Belle. Enjoy the rest of your day," Before he could retreat to his hovel, that warmth returned to his shoulder.

"If you like, Mister Hobblefoot, I could help. Teach you to read."

With a gleam in his eye, he smiled. "That's just fine, Miss Belle."


	4. Chapter 4

Durza pounded hard, aiming to break the girl's pelvis, his cock brutally pistoning in and out of her. She enjoyed it at first, moaning "Master," with every thrust, but eventually they warped into terrified screams. He had started clawing at her stomach, his razored nails peeling her tender flesh. Leaning back, he basked in the music of her agony, congratulating himself on another day well spent.

He fantasized Belle beneath him, taking everything he had, and giving back the same; the idea heightened his frenzy, sweat dripping ever so slowly down his back, accompanied by shivers of pleasure. His girl was a dragon - a wild beast meant to be ridden and tamed. But only in his mind.

Durza gazed into a mirror, as he kept fucking the slave - he had been watching his treasure. She ambled through the village, oblivious to her voyeur. He pressed a palm to the glass, smearing blood over her image. Belle turned to speak to someone, and he could see her eyes: the bottomless blue depths that spoke of knowing. Knowing that she was more than the slop surrounding her, knowing what lay beyond her mind's walls, but afraid to venture there. And he could not wait to bring her to the other side.

He had been so captivated by Belle's beauty, that it took him a bit longer to realize the girl in his bed had died, her intestines splayed around her hips. Pity. He had yet to release.

* * *

"That blasted Shade had started this war, and expects us to fight for him! This decree I hold in my hand, states that Urgals will not be going into battle, because he has better use for them."

Aenor, self-appointed town crier, had ripped their lord's newest decree off a wall, and stood on a wooden box. Shouting from the depths of his stomach, his rage incurred dissent amongst the crowd, everyone bewildered that their master chose to send them to a sure slaughter.

"Food," he continued, "is to be taken from our fields. Our sons are to be sent away to war. All are called to assist in this waste of time and life. The smiths, the farmers, even our spinners!"

People turned and looked to the occasionally abandoned shack, their reclusive spinner more likely hiding within. A few laughed at the notion of Hobblefoot having anything to do with bloodshed, even from his wheel; his skittish nature and loner tendencies marked him a ball-less coward. All left him alone, save for the odd farmer or two that had wool to sell, and the even odder flower girl, Belle.

Gossip quickly spread through the village; not a considerable feat, Carvahall was quite small. Belle spent a lot of time at Humble-foot's shack. His moon-eyed stares at the town beauty were far from unnoticed, and everyone watched and waited for the entertainment gained from her inevitable rejection.

The girl in question was nowhere to be seen. Belle hid in her home, unwilling to hear anything to do with war. Or their lord Durza. She felt completely unsurprised that that monster would toss around his people like toys, knowing King Galbatorix could not give a damn. Rather than be angry over something she had no control over, she silently thanked any gods left that her friend had not been called to the front lines.

She missed Hobblefoot. She frequently went to visit him, but lately he turned her away from behind the door. The poor man didn't have the courage to come to the door to face her, these days, instead asking her to leave, his voice muffled and curt.

They spent afternoons reading; she had promised to teach him. He was a quick learner, she was pleased to find. He absorbed everything she taught him, only focused on her and her words. Belle was unused to this sort of attention. Men looked at her, yes, but none listened to anything she said. And he looked into her eyes; not just looked, but searched, his warm brown eyes offering her comfort and...

The thought of what his looks could mean scared her. No, scared was not the right word... More like, made her anxious of something she had yet to experience.

Belle was falling for the spinner, and she hoped she would not come to regret it.

* * *

Have your little war, Durza. Just as long as I don't have to interfere.

A missive from his king. Being the favorite of Galbatorix had its perks. The things a man would do for the chance to fuck a woman.

A shiver raced down his spine; Belle had come to Hobblefoot's door.


End file.
